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When it became clear I couldn’t turn the knob, I made it my new mission to rip it right off, bracing one foot next to the door and tugging. A normal knob would have yielded with no work on my part. The amount of strength I was using was enough to rip a man’s arm clean off, but the door was unmoved.
I threw my weight against it a few times, but the only result of those efforts was a bruised shoulder.
Physically spent from my useless exertion, I returned to the back of the room—avoiding my puke on the floor—and slipped back down the wall, burying my head in my hands.
This was not where I was supposed to die.
I could accept going down nobly, fighting my way to the finish, but I wouldn’t die in an ugly gray room.
Calliope had seen my death. She’d told me I was going to die standing next to someone I loved. I held her words like a precious gift, letting them cast a hopeful glow on me. Calliope was an Oracle, and she could see the future. If she said I was going to die next to someone I loved, there was no way this was the last stop for me.
I ran my hands through my hair, snagging my fingers on the bloody strands. My kingdom for a hair elastic, I thought, trying to keep my foul mood from making the situation any worse.
Wrapping my arms around my thighs, hands tucked behind my calves, I propped my chin on my knees and waited. All the while, I reminded myself, You won’t die alone. You can’t die alone.
For several hours I watched the door, expecting it to open any moment. Sunrise came and stole my consciousness, but I couldn’t fight it, not without fresh blood in my system.
I awoke at nightfall, and the floor had been cleaned, the room stinking to high heaven from pine-scented cleanser. Rather than feeling assured or relieved that I’d been untouched during the cleaning, I got paranoid. They’d had a perfect opportunity to kill me, yet hadn’t.
What the hell was going on here?
“Hello?” The raspy voice surprised me, and had I not known it was my own, I wouldn’t have recognized it. How long had it been since I’d last said anything out loud? “Hello?”
No reply, just my own rough voice echoing back at me off the walls.
“I want to see The Doctor. ”
Staring at the door, I half-expected him to come in and introduce himself. He might announce his nefarious plot to me and perhaps laugh at my situation while petting a fluffy white cat.
Okay, so I didn’t actually expect him to be Dr. No, but with a name like The Doctor it was hard not to picture him as a cartoonish movie villain. I did think he’d come in when I called for him, though.
He didn’t.
For four days I was left there, given nothing to eat or drink—they must have known I’d be able to live without water—and nothing to hint at why I’d been taken.
On the fifth day, The Doctor came.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The door opened with such ease I began to imagine they must have unlocked it at some point while I slept, otherwise how could it be opened without some jangling of keys or other noises?
At first I was convinced I was seeing things. After five days locked alone in a concrete box with no outside contact or sustenance of any kind, I was getting a little squirrelly. I’d jump at imaginary noises, and had started talking to myself so I’d remember what language sounded like.
Five days alone doesn’t seem so long of a time until you’re entombed in a private prison in hell.
I recognized his eyes first, the cold, icy blue I’d been able to spot across a dark city street. The homeless man from the Tenderloin. He didn’t look homeless now, though. Instead of matted dreadlocks and a beard, he was clean-shaven with a smartly styled haircut right out of the fifties. He had an angular face with thin lips that curved up into a cruel smile.
I could have slit my wrists on his cheekbones.
He dragged a chair in behind him, the metal legs screaming against concrete. I winced at the sound, my ears no longer accustomed to loud noises.
I curled myself into a ball, as if I could avoid him seeing me if I could make myself small enough.
“Good evening, Ms. McQueen. ” He sat in the chair and placed one hand on each of his knees. He had an accent. German, or maybe Austrian. It made him sound scarier for some reason. “I trust you have been enjoying your stay with us so far. ”
He was kidding, right?
Were the Germans really known for their sense of humor?
